


the dragon's daughter

by manbunjon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark Magic, Resurrected Daenerys Targaryen, Resurrection, former jonerys, post season eight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2020-12-23 18:11:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21085637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manbunjon/pseuds/manbunjon
Summary: "The world is what you make it, Daenerys Stormborn." Said Kinvara. Her eyes flashed, red as flame, red as blood. "What is it you wish for?"Daenerys sat forward. Fingers reaching for Drogon, finding hard scale and warm flesh, watching the smoke that poured from his nostrils like fog. The words sprang forward before Daenerys could think to stop them. "Vengeance, justice. Fire and blood."





	the dragon's daughter

Blackness edged in from every side, so deep and dark that it was nearly palpable, close to suffocation. Her chest was tight, as though her lungs were not large enough to take in all the air she ached for in that moment, as though he throat was too raw and too rigid for the air she struggled to take in. 

Darkness engulfing her so completely that for a moment, as Daenerys Targaryen opened her eyes, she thought her sight had been lost. She could see little before her, only the small, bright spots that danced before her bloodshot eyes, her skin feeling taut and uncomfortable.

In the distance there was a soft glow, like the dull, luminous gleam of a lit candle, but she was too fatigued to waste her time with identifying it. 

A breeze swept over her like an exhaled breath, forcing a shiver to tremble through her body as a feeling of cold filled her that she was not accustomed to. Naught but a roughspun cloth covered her, its frayed edges tickling her skin as the breeze continued. The cloth reached over her soft middle, perhaps protecting the modesty Daenerys found she no longer cared about, but it did little to protect from the invading cold that materialised from all sides. 

There was no sound, only the shallow breaths she was barely able to recognise as her own. But soon her ears became attuned to something else. A dull flickering whip. A candle perhaps, with its wick almost swallowed by pooling wax. But the flickering grew steadily louder, only louder, like a storm's wind whipping through bare branches. 

Daenerys could hear wings, loud enough to crack the silence of the moist air, and she knew the sound at once. She would know it in sleep, in dream, in death. _Drogon_. 

At her side her fingers twitched, as though making to reach for him, and she found herself so overcome with relief at the fact that she could still move them that she could feel tears pricking at the backs of her eyes. 

She let her head fall to the side, tired violet eyes searching the air for him as the dragon closed the space between them. 

Daenerys let out a sob, the noise breaking the air loud as the crack of the whip, and she felt heat and pain scorch her like the flames she had been reborn in. She pushed aside the cloth, her fingers falling to her chest, feeling the pucker of broken skin, the wetness of oozing blood, the horror of memory. Where she had just felt relief, suddenly only dread remained. 

She could remember the touch, _his_ touch. The way he had kissed her, so deep and so smooth. The way his blade had thrust up into her, as though she were butter, as though her body had not blazed and broken and been reborn.

And there was cold. 

A horrible, aching, dreadful cold. It encompassed her, consumed her, swallowed her whole and sapping her strength, the fire that had always burnished in her chest in her chest extinguished, snuffed out like the flame of a silver candle. 

Her lips felt cold, old, as though they had not known a kind touch to them in years, and as her fingers ran over the jagged wound she found she could barely feel it anymore, could barely remember what it was to feel anything. 

Drogon landed beside her with a jarring blow that jolted her free from the cage of her throughs. The cloth over her fell away, leaving her bare to the cold, bare to the world around her that she had once thought so rich. 

She lifted a hand, a dull jolt rushing through her at the sight of bloodstained fingers, and laid it upon his leathery snout. Heartsease edged into her, calm, the way his crimson eyes met hers leaving nothing but placidity in their wake. He was here, her Drogon, and for now that was enough. 

"Drogon..." she spoke. Her voice was a hoarse croak, dry and brittle, how long unused she did not know. 

"My queen." Daenerys' head jerked toward the sound, wary, the way her hands closed to fists at her sides making Drogon bristle. She thought of him again, his dark curls, his kind ey es, and felt sick with grief. 

A flash of red. Red robes, red jewel, red eyes. A face appeared before her, unexpected. Familiar. 

"Do not be afraid, your grace." said Kinvara. 

Her smile was gentle, kind, the hand she laid upon Daenerys' shoulder kinder. She slid the cloth back into place, the way her fingers lingered over the gash on her chest making Daenerys flinch. 

"You are healing well, your grace." the Red Woman continued. "The Lord of Light was kind and swift." She smiled fondly. Daenerys watched her fingers stroke the side of the dragon's face, the closest another had ever come to her Drogon. "As was your child. A gift from the Lord of Light. He speaks to him, urged him to bring you here. To bring you to me, your grace." 

"I am not your grace." Daenerys snapped. Her voice was worn, tired, and her violet eyes were not kind, watching the woman move beside her dragon. "I am Queen of Ashes. Queen of Death. Queen of Nothing."

"It is not so, your grace." said Kinvara. "You are the princess that was promised. You have freed the slaves from their chains and crucified the masters for their crimes. From the fire you were reborn to remake the world, and so it will be." 

Daenerys listened, thinking of false smiles and dark curls and mountains of swords. Of knives and kisses. Of blood. 

"The world is what you make it, Daenerys Stormborn. What will you make it?" asked Kinvara. Her eyes flashed, red as flame, red as blood. "What is it you wish for?" 

Daenerys sat forward. Fingers reaching for Drogon, finding hard scale and warm flesh, watching the smoke that poured from his nostrils like fog. 

The words sprang forward before Daenerys could think to stop them. "Vengeance, justice. Fire and blood." 

**Author's Note:**

> this is literally just me working through my s8 depression and giving dark daenerys the ending she deserves
>
>> 


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